On Starlit Wings
by Bibliodragon
Summary: Adventures of the crew of Britain's Aerial Dragon Corps Galactica. A Battlestar Galactica/Temeraire crossover AU.
1. Chapter 1

1805-Dover Harbour

Captain William Adama was grateful for the shade Galactica provided from the relentless midday sun. Leaning against the great dragon's foreleg, both captain and dragon watched the impatient sailors climbing the rigging while remaining as far as possible from the dragon deck with resigned patience; the winds remained favourable yet their departure continued to be delayed.

As the Atlantia was forced by its size to remain anchored outside the port, there was no opportunity to go ashore; a benefit in that there was no need to worry about any attempts of the men to absconded from their duties, but then even the officers could not take a turn about on solid ground before setting sail. Instead they could only watch from a distance the bustling port, ships of trade unloading their wears, the small fishing boats and even a great ship-of-the-line.

The dragon turned her head into the wind and her captain placed his hand against the fading scales of her leg in silent reassurance, beyond that slight movement both remained quite still.

Their companion was not quite so contained; First Lieutenant Saul Tigh, never the most even-tempered in all the years Adama had served with him, continued to pace to the deck railing and back again. Adama noted that if it had not been for the bottle green coat of an aviator, with his visible impatience and patch over one eye his first lieutenant could quite easily been mistaken for one of the sailors.

"If you don't stop pacing in front of me you are going to make me seasick before we have even set off," Adama eventually said.

"Hell, they tell us to hurry, then they make us wait in port for God knows how long." The irate lieutenant paused in his pacing to glower down at the Captain of the vessel who was keeping watch on his crew, as if his glare had the power to induce the man to give the order to set sail. He had reason to wish for a swift passage, as his wife had gone ahead on an East Indian ship a week previous, even though as a captain Adama would have been able to secure a place for her on the transport had Tigh asked; much to his relief Ellen Tigh had preferred to weather the sacrifice of separation from her husband for a more luxurious vessel.

"He doesn't seem to be too happy about the wait either." Galactica said. "Flying is much more straight forward." She paused to rearrange her wings across her back, turning her head and peering critically at the slightly tattered edges of her wing membranes.

"Even in your prime you wouldn't have been able to fly across the Atlantic, you overgrown lizard, you're too big to be a courier" Tigh said, "mores' the pity! I'd rather take the chance with our own than stuck on this tub for months on end. And why this particular boat, I don't know." He trailed off into grumbling, though both man and dragon shot a furtive glance towards their captain. Adama just continued to stare ahead and gave no sign of hearing, though he thought briefly that the Admiralty could not have punished him more effectively had it been malicious intent and not chance that led to the HMS Atlantia being their means of transportation to the Caribbean, before pushing all such thoughts from his mind and making do with glaring straight ahead.

"I do wish they weren't sending us away." Galactica suddenly spoke up. "There is plenty fighting to be done here. All this talk of fighting Napoleon and what a danger he is, of course I not going to sit around in the breeding grounds while everyone else gets to battle!"

"Huh, we all know that the Admiralty wouldn't see sense if it bit them," Tigh said. "Still plenty of fight left in you, plain as day."

Adama let such, almost traitorous remarks go unchecked; none of the men were near by to over hear it and privately he agreed with them both. But he suspected that Galactica's refusal to retire gracefully had only provided their Lordships with the excuse they were looking for to ship them out of sight. The dragon was still an impressive sight; a heavyweight of nearly 20 tons despite her uncertain pedigree, and the numerous scars that marked her grey scales and broken horns only added to her ferocious appearance, but there was no escaping that she had lost some weight and did not move as quickly as she used to. Instead he just asked how the crew were holding up. Away from their normal routines and discipline the enforced idleness of such a journey could be the ruin of a good dragon crew.

Tigh shrugged. "I've not had to knock any heads together yet, though I don't doubt that at the end of this little trip you'll want to shove half of them over board."

They lapsed into silence, and even once they had set sail there would not be much for them to do, but the impatience of the sailors was contagious. Galactica once again turned her head into the wind, and Tigh continued to pace, and Adama observed from the occasional twitch of his hand giving away that he would rather be below decks with a bottle in his hand.

Such peace was shattered as Galactica suddenly twisted her neck around to look towards the port; well used to the swift changes of combat Adama was standing with feet firmly on the deck before the dragon stood and stretched her head higher to get a better look at whatever had caught her attention. The sudden commotion and shouts of members of the ships crew on that side of the vessel confirmed that they were being approached by a row boat.

"What do you see?" he asked Galactica, who after her initial burst of interest was settling down with an air of nonchalance, though she continued to look in the direction of the disorder.

"Just a boat bringing people," she said. "Nothing exciting at all."

Perhaps not interesting to the dragon, but a row boat approaching a dragon transport vessel that by all means should have set sail was enough to raise Adama's ire. It would be understandable if some item of importance had been left on the shore, but they had been waiting for the wind to change for over a day, surely enough time for everything to have been ferried aboard.

An attempt to waylay Captain Nagala as he strode past proved futile: the man waved him off abruptly with a short statement about having to pick up other passengers, and from the expression on the man's face Adama deduced that he was as unhappy about the enforced wait as his sailors. However when he commented on this observation Tigh just snorted.

"He was perfectly happy to be rude when he thought we would be leaving on time."

The activity provided some brief interest, and some speculation, the sailors pulling up the bosons chair with rude haste, though the captain greeted the new arrivals with perfect politeness. It was a small party, though from their movements it was impossible to gauge of how many, dressed in travelling clothes but still perfectly apparent that these were respectable members of Society along with a few servants, yet as their luggage was quickly brought aboard there seemed to be less than Adama would have imagined such a party would have been brought with them.

Galactica continued to watch the group through heavily lidded eyes, and the attentions of such a large dragon were not something easily ignored. One of the party, whose dress had given him away as a Reverend had visibly startled at the sight of the great grey dragon when they had been brought on board, but several more began to look nervous at her continued interest. The only one to retain their composure was also the only woman of the group, apart from her maid, an attractive lady of middle years, responding to Captain Nagala with equal politeness of her own.

"Now why on Earth would they be travelling on a transport ship?" Tigh said, giving word to Adama's thoughts. A dragon transport ship could never be considered an ideal mode of passage for respectable people, being as it was dedicated to the transport of what Adama had come to feel Society considered a mere necessary evil.

"The men will need to be on their best behaviour," Adama said quietly.

"I doubt we will be mixing with the likes of them," Tigh harrumphed, but at Adama's look he said "understood, I'll make sure they know that. But Galactica will surely keep them bellow decks."

"It will be a long voyage, familiarity breeds contempt, and even the company of a dragon will no doubt seem preferable to them than the air of their cabins."

But Tigh was correct; the group quickly vanishing below, and now with their imposed wait lifted orders were shouted to begin preparations to set sail immediately.


	2. Chapter 2

Still close enough to land for French patrols to be a potential issue, the ground crew were carefully going over Galcatica's harness and armour; spread out across the dragon deck crewmen picked over the leather straps, tugging and pulling at any piece that showed the slightest bit of wear, under the watchful eyes of both ground crew chief Galen Tyrol and Galatica herself.

Adama watched as she would make a comment here and there whenever she thought someone was not being attentive enough. With such a voyage still ahead of them it may have been wise to stagger the work, so the crew would have some work ahead of them, but he could not risk a strap coming undone if they were called to battle. If necessary they would just have to repair the smallest of scratches; at least no one would be able to accuse them of sloppy work.

"You will make sure that shoulder strap is the right thickness? Otherwise it is uncomfortable," Galactica said, leaning over so her shadow fell over Tyrol.

"Every time you ask that, and every time it's fine," was his response, the crew chief not looking up from his work.

"But this might be the one time it's not," she said with mock concern, her resonant voice tinged with amusement.

"It's more likely to happen when you're hovering over me. Why don't you go check on someone else? Cally, I need some more silk thread over here." Waiting for the young woman to bring it over, he glared up at Galactica, but only equalling the severity that the dragon was currently showing.

Even by the standards of the Aerial Corps Galactica's crew was unconventional: throughout her many years Galactica had developed a habit of collecting crew members no matter what the Admiralty thought or according to social mores, ever since she had emerged from her egg and chosen Adama's great-grandfather for her captain. Having been forced to accept this eccentricity, the Admiralty had since decided to take advantage of her reputation and would often assign to her those considered troublemakers, or who did not fit in to Aviator society. Adama did not care one bit for their opinion; the crew had served well, and he would trust any one of them in battle over their Lordships.

"Are you brooding?" Seemingly content that the ground crew no longer needed her close supervision, Galactica had curled her neck round towards him without him noticing, the great bulk of her giving them a semblance of privacy from the busy deck.

"I do not brood. I'm just thinking."

She snorted affectionately at him, with a force that would have caused him to step back were he not securely situated against her foreleg. "Thinking then."

"I am thinking. Nothing wrong with that."

"But fighting is more interesting. I wonder why the French don't attack us." She sighed, and Adama patted her nose.

"Bloodthirsty thing. Don't you think about anything else?"

"I worry about you, you have hardly moved from the dragon deck here. Are you going to spend the entire voyage here?"

It was only two days into their journey, and Adama was not looking forward to having to deal with a dragon who wanted to play nurse maid on top of all the other problems that unquestionably came from such a voyage.

"I'm needed here.; Tigh has been laid down with seasickness and someone must keep an eye on the crew. And you for that matter."

"Me?"

"I seem to recall an incident aboard the William of Orange in '86. Someone took down the entire mizzenmast sails when they decided on a night flight."

Galactica shifted guiltily. "That could have been any dragon."

"The only other dragon aboard the transport was a Winchester courier."

"Yes, well, I promise not to damage this ship," Galactica said. "Even though these ships should not be so fragile. I'm sure I could quite easily knock down these masts without even trying."

As it was impossible for such a large dragon to whisper, at overhearing this several of the ground crew not used to sea travel visibly paled as they looked at the masts as if expecting them to fall down at any moment, while the sailors scowled and muttered at this slur against their vessel. Adama could only wonder how long into their journey it would be until she caused a diplomatic incident.

"They are built to survive storms at sea, and I am sure some thought was put towards the attentions of bored and determined dragons." He patted her again. "But please, don't try to destroy the ship."

"I shall try not to." She nudged against his hand with surprising gentleness. "And I do mean that you don't have the stay here the entire time. I'm sure Lieutenant Agathon would be able to look after things for a little while."

"And where exactly would I go? My berth may be fine for sleeping, but it gets a little tiresome staring at four wooden walls."

She unfurled one wing in a shrug. "Perhaps you could look around the ship."

"I could almost think you were wanting to get rid of me," Adama said, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course not!" she said, scandalized. "It's just, well." Lapsing into silence, she fidgeted slightly; her wings rustling against her back, then with a deep sigh she stilled. "We need some battles, that is what we need. I could go aloft and see if there are any enemy dragons, and they could see me; they would have to attack us rather than any ships," she said, almost as if to herself.

"If only that could be the answer to everything."

"It should be." Lifting her head up she yawned widely; her yellowed teeth glinting dangerously in the sun despite the slight blunting of age. Her forked tongue flicked out once to taste the air, then she turned her head towards the dragon deck stairs alongside the foremast. Though her outward manner had not changed, Adama could feel a shiver of tension run through her body and he stepped forward so he could see what it was that had drawn her attention.

Coming up the stairs was an officer of the Atlantia; the gold bars on his collar marking him as a lieutenant, and an expression of carefully constructed indifference on his face that did not fully succeed in concealing an underlying anger. Not quite looking at Adama, yet it was still clear that he was heading towards them; there was no reason for an officer of the ship to intrude upon the domain of the aviators. Adama's face settled into severe lines as he stepped forward to meet with him.

"Lieutenant."

Lieutenant Lee Adama, third lieutenant of the Atlantia , merely responded with a stiff formal bow. At a casual glance an observer could be forgiven for not realizing that they were father and son, they were not much alike beyond their blue eyes and similarity in bearing. Even in the past their relationship had been strained; even if the decision had come from on high that he was to be Galactica's last captain, Lee would still have been in an excellent position to be put to an egg had he remained in the Corps. Instead, he had called upon his mother's connections to get a place in the Navy, much to his father's consternation . The still recent tragedy only served to exacerbate the situation.

Adama hoped that they would not reiterate their previous encounter; as well as not wanting to row in front of his crew, he did not know how Galactica would react. But whatever Lee's real feelings on the matter were, they remained concealed behind an icy politeness.

"The Captain extends his compliments and wishes to extend an invitation to you and your officers of dinner."

The words came out in a rush, as if he wanted to extend the invitation he had been ordered to give and then leave as quickly as possible. The sounds of Tyrol berating the ground crew seemed excessively loud as Adama considered how to respond to the invitation; had it been any other officer of the ship he could have used the excuse of not wanting to leave his dragon unattended, but Lee's familiarity with her meant that he could not try and pass of her currently composed demeanour as that of a dragon likely to fuss at a sea voyage.

Instead he nodded and gruffly said, "my officers and I would be delighted," then turned and waled back to Galactica's side, and after a moment the sound of brisk footsteps moving back the way he had come informed him that Lee had withdrawn.

He glanced up at Galactica, who was staring after Lee with large eyes. "Don't you say anything, he is impossible to get through to."

She turned and nudged at him for him to stroke her nose. "I wonder where he could have gotten that from."


	3. Chapter 3

Galactica would not hear of him sending his apologies to Captian Nagala along with his excuses for not attending, even though she never much cared for social engagements that took Adama away from her before.

"So you can tell me everything afterwards, since I never get invited because I can't fit," was her elusive answer when he had questioned this.

"You've never been a socialite before," Adama said.

Galactica had shrugged and continued to eat her own meal with a studied indifference. She had all the subtlety and wiliness that a dragon of almost 20 tons needed, not much indeed, and there was a definite shifty air about her. He would rather not dwell on such a personal issue, and had no illusions about his son's stubbornness; but if Galactica had any misconceptions that he would suddenly see reason it would be best to let her down gently to avoid disappointment.

"You do know that the captain's table will be no place to talk to Lee, even if he is not on watch or some other on some other duty?"

"I am not thinking that at all. What is that to me? I am merely thinking of not wanting the sailors to take offence." She rustled her wings and turned her head away in an offhand manner, though he could see her glance down at him through one large reddish-brown eye.

Then there was the important issue of who to bring; he would have preferred to bring Tigh, even if he did tend to be mulish in his cups, but he was still claiming seasickness.

"Not that I'm happy to turn down an invitation; they'll probably be serving much better food and drink than what we get," he said, looking in a fine temper if still a little green around the edges. "Even if the entertainment with those stuffed shirts won't be up to much."

"And I'm sure they will miss your company too, but I'm sure there will be plenty of other opportunities to show off your social manners."

"Like hell!"

But there could be no denying that it would break up the monotony of the trip; and perhaps could go a way towards soothing the rumblings of rivalry between the aerial crew and the crew of the ship if their officers could maintain a cordial relationship. He had forgotten about their fellow passengers, so when he and the handful of officers he had picked out as unlikely to cause any offence to Navy sensibilities arrived he was surprised to see a lady sitting at the Captains table.

Quickly getting over his initial surprise, Adama surreptitiously glanced at his men to make sure that they knew to behave themselves in mixed company; luckily Lieutenants Agathon and Gaeta could be relied upon, and perhaps it was a good thing that Tigh was not with them.

Looking around briefly, and noticing with some dread Lee who did not look at him as he entered the cabin, he observed that there were other non Navy personnel attending also, and from the reticence of some of the Naval officers he steadied himself for an evening of awkward and stifling politeness.

At least the food and drink were excellent, better thank what the Aviators received, though he much preferred the relaxed atmosphere and informality of his crews communal dining. And it did give him an opportunity to observe their fellow passengers, and at their introduction he could only continue to wonder even more at what would have brought them upon such a vessel.

While his visits into Society were brief in the past and had been at the behest of his wife when they had been attempting at a cordial marital front, he knew Lady Laura Roslin only by reputation; the only surviving daughter of a Peer and unmarried despite her age and very much a respectable lady. With here were a Mr Keikeya, rather awkward young man and introduced as her ward, and the Reverend Gaius Baltar, who looked put out when Adama admitted that he had never heard of him. "But I suppose you would not get out into society much, being tied to your beast as you are," Baltar said with swift recovery and much to Adama's irritation. "Though I have just lately given a talk for the Royal Society refuting some of Sir Edward Howe latest fanciful ideas, but perhaps too soon for that to have reached Aviator circles."

"Unfortunately not." Adama managed to respond with a measure of politeness, but was secretly pleased when the other man quailed visibly under his glare.

"I am sure Captain Adama's duties leave him with little time for such things," Lady Laura interjected, meeting Adama's gaze quite calmly.

He did not care for her condescension. "I am sure it is no more than any other division of His Majesty's Forces," he said gruffly.

From the expressions on several of the naval officers faces it seemed they did not care to be lumped in with aviators. "Though ships require a quite different type of handling than a dragon," said one.

"Yes, and a ship can't turn around and, uh, refuse orders," one of the younger officers managed to recover with a guilty glance towards Lady Laura, though the intended words 'eat people' were still obviously clear.

"A dragon is only as likely to refuse orders as any other common soldier," was Adama's sharp response.

"Or perhaps any common soldier with 10 tons behind them," Baltar said, to a ripple of amusement from the naval officers.

"Are you and your dragon posted to the Caribbean?" Keikeya asked in the silence that followed.

"I would have thought all dragons would have been used on the front," the Atlantia's first Lieutenant said. "I can only wonder at what a heavyweight would be needed for there."

"We go where we are ordered," Adama said, irritated because it was what he himself had often wondered.

"Perhaps the tradesmen are worried that piracy might raise its ugly head once more," Baltar said with amusement. "Though there has been talk of rumours at numerous events I have lately attended, it is almost as if people wish such romantic notions to be true."

"More likely the French up to no good," was Captain Nagala's opinion. "I believe the corps has a Longwing out there, Captain?"

"Pegasus. Yes," Adama said. While more detailed discussion of the war would have normally provided a sure topic of conversation that could bridge the gap between the two factions, with Lady Laura present they were forced to struggle for more neutral subjects. Awkward silence would have likely reigned had it not been for Gaius Baltar's skill of conversation: he had a charming ease that did nothing to further recommend him to Adama, but as Lieutenant Gaeta had apparently read some of his articles they were able to carry enough conversation to distract and a fine excuse for the others less learned to merely listen rather than take part.

Still, the time between courses continued to crawl, and the atmosphere was thick enough for even that conversation to falter. No doubt used to more stimulating dinner conversation, Lady Laura made an effort. "Lieutenant Adama, am I right in assuming a family connection between yourself and Captain Adama?"

Lee looked surprised at being so addressed, but managed to answer " my father," with cool politeness before taking refuge in his glass. Staring fixedly at his plate Adama thought he felt her gaze upon him but when he glanced up she was looking away.

"That is unusual, I had thought Aviators tended to run in families?" Baltar said.

"My mother's father was an officer in the merchant navy, so the sea is in my blood also," Lee said stiffly.

Cutting too hard, the sudden crack of his knife against his plate was almost like a gunshot in the stuffy cabin. Adama looked up briefly and murmured an apology.

"Billy, I believe you have not spoken of our trip to London." Lady Laura sailed forth once more and they managed to carry the conversation to the end of the meal.

Port and cigars were taken out on deck, the cool night breeze welcome after the heat of the cabin; being the only woman of the party Lady Laura joined them but prudently took a place at the rail a short distance away with he ward at her side, allowing the men some freedom to converse.

Looking over the dragon deck, Adama could see that Galactica was still awake; her head was up and she was watching the sailors in the rigging while keeping perfectly still, but he could see from the slight bristling of the ridge of spines down her neck that something had annoyed her.

"I have not seen a dragon of her like before; she is not one of the British breeds is she?"

He looked at Lady Laura in some surprise; he had not been aware that in checking on the dragon he had moved closer to her than the men behind them.

"No, she was hatched in Central America, but her mother was a Regal Copper and she has more than proven herself to be the equal of that breed." He knew he sounded defensive, but it was a long standing sore point. But Lady Laura merely responded with a nondescript hum.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, with just the murmurs of conversation behind them and the creaks and groans of the ship as she ploughed through the water. Rather than put her through more awkward conversation, he excused himself by saying he needed to check on Galactica. She nodded politely with a smile that did not reach her eyes and then turned back to Billy, though if she thought this just an excuse she gave no sign; iit was an improvement of his experience of society women they often did not even try to conceal such feelings from Aviators, especially his wife.

Galactica watched his process but only gave a grumble of welcome once he was close enough to put his hand on her side.

"Is something troubling you?" he asked her. "You seem ruffled."

"Just bored," she said, though she darted a quick glare in the direction of nearby sailors.

"Have they been bothering you?"

"They wouldn't dare trouble us," was her enigmatic response. Stepping round he spotted a hidden by her bulk leaning against her side and smoking a cigar.

"What do you hear Starbuck?"

"Nothing but the rain sir."

"Have you been bothering them?"

Lieutenant Kara Thrace just grinned. "'Course not sir. I've just been keeping Galactica company, that's all."

"We don't get to dine with the Captain," Galactica said with a sniff.

"Now that's not fair, you are the one who practically pushed me into going. And Kara understands why she couldn't go."

"Can't have the Navy knowing our deep dark secret now, I know. Besides, there's plenty of others things I'd rather do than have to listen to that stuck up lot. Like sitting here listening to the sailors grumble. They've been whispering about ships on this route that have been going missing, so we might get to see some action after all." The young woman looked positively eager.

"Just sailor rumours. Go get your head down."

"Yes sir, I understand, need to be rested for another day of doing nothing."

"Go to bed Starbuck."

Hiding his amusement he glared at her, but she was unperturbed as she headed to the stairs that led to their cabins. Galactica moved her leg forward for him in invitation, and once he was sitting with his back against her chest he felt the tension he did not know he had begin to leave his body.


	4. Chapter 4

Galactica had travelled by sea enough times to know that one day was often very much like the other, with only the hope of battle to interrupt the routine of sleeping and eating and sleeping again. Unfortunately the French were proving to be most inconsiderate; a small frigate provided the tease of a skirmish in the morning but had stubbornly kept its distance, until it had eventually disappeared over the horizon. And so one day would follow another with little of note to mark them.

At least the sun was warm and the weather pleasant, and with the favourable winds and full sails at least it felt as if they were going somewhere, even if she could not do the flying herself. There were worse things that the heat of the sun on your scales while you listened to the life of the ship around you.

The days were spent listening to the babble and gossip and little arguments of the sailors and her own crew; often amongst them she could hear that Lee and Starbuck having one of their arguments again. It vexed her; arguments were so much easier when it was only one of her crew against an outsider, and then she could just solve the problem by tipping the interloper over the side. Even more inconsiderately, after the first was carried out in her presence they would then conduct them below decks, making it so much more difficult for her to intervene and make her opinion known. But not impossible, and she was giving serious thought to pulling up the planking. One morning when she was wondering if her claws were narrow enough to pry up the boards or whether to simply push down at one end until it broke free of its nailing and seesaw upwards when she was distracted by another style conversation going on, one of a style unfamiliar to the coarse gruffness and swearing that made up the backdrop to sea voyaging.

Some of the other passengers were coming up onto the deck to partake of the fresh, sea air; Galactica had swung her head around to get a better look and gave a snort of disgruntled amusement when this evident attention caused the conversation to halt. People really did lack sense.

Sitting in the crook of her foreleg, her Bill had only looked up from his book at her movement for a brief moment, with the only sign that he had noticed anything a slight squaring of his shoulders. However, Galactica was glad of an opportunity to get a look at these strangers for herself and so blatantly stared at them to see how they would respond.

The lady, who would have to be the Lady Laura Roslin unless any other had managed to come aboard without her noticing, calmly walked to the railing disappointingly without any of the screaming hysterics that in her experience ladies so often seemed prone to. The identities of the two men would take a little more deciphering and eavesdropping, however she came up against one problem straight away; conversation suitable for polite society was so very boring.

The older of the men, the one in the dull clothing of the clergy which would have identified him as Gaius Baltar even if it were not for his way of speaking familiar from the dinner conversation of the night before, was prattling on about some event he had been to as if it should be the most interesting thing in the world, even though there was not even the slightest bit of action in them. Not even any descriptions of the fine gold and jewels that society people like to wear, which was the only thing ever interesting about them, but instead he was wasting time talking about some other conversation with Lord such and such.

With a creak of her jaws she gave a sail-rattling yawn. Once the rumble of her exhale had died away she noticed that the conversation had halted and she was a subject of interest again; as she looked down at them she noticed Lady Laura's mouth twitch before the lady quickly turned to look out to sea.

The next day they were above decks even earlier; the breeze was still cool much of her crew and her Bill were below decks at breakfast and she had just finished licking her claws clean of the blood from her own. Lady Laura, the same young man and another one, tall and with a watchful air that reminded her of a solider, albeit an undisciplined one. The little group stood at the rail and Galactica soon lost interest in them until Gaius Baltar appeared from below and after a furtive look in her direction quickly approached them. This provided her with a little distraction until Bill reappeared, where then the strangers were put out of her mind in the face of family drama that was resisting all her attempts to correct.

It was extraordinarily frustrating! It was not a large ship, she could travel from one side to the other in a few awkward steps, and yet out of sheer stubbornness father and son had continued to avoid being in each others presence since the dinner party.

It seemed to her as if she would have to employ subtlety.

"This isn't a bad voyage," she said, stretching her wings and yawning in an exaggerated manner. "No storms so far, that's good."

"Yes it is." While below Bill had picked up one of his books and taking his place upon her foreleg she watched as he took out his spectacles and then flicked through the books pages to find his place; she could never see the point herself, but she did have to admit that on the occasions he would read out loud the nonsense that the authors persisting in writing his voice was very soothing.

"And it is nice, it just being us. None of the youngsters taking up space."

"You miss having them to boss about." He turned a page.

"I do not!" she exclaimed with a snort, then lowering her head down to rest on the deck admitted "a little bit. I have to make do with you."

"Now that does scare me."

She huffed at him. "Then you need to find something else for me to do."

"It is not as if I can summon enemies out of the aether for you to fight." He looked up briefly towards the upper deck then quickly returned to the book.

"Now that would be something useful," she said with a wistful sigh.

Bill made the noise that meant he was secretly amused, and companionable silence descended upon them once again, Galactica occasionally stretching a wing or a leg with a groan. The problem with subtlety was that it took such a long time to get anywhere with it!

Another yawn, and eyes half closed in concentration she glanced over in the direction of the odd little group of strangers as she tried work on subtlety. Gaius Baltar was talking in that same confidant, nonsensical way as he had at the dinner party, while the Lady Laura would smile politely and continue to take careful steps around the deck.

People of society were terribly dull.

She briefly wondered what was likely to happen if she happened to give a small roar, just a small one, to make sure her voice was still working properly; the reaction of even the most seemingly stoic of sailors could provide a moment of interest during voyages of the past, though she was always careful only to try it when she was truly bored. But she was supposed to know better than that.

Not even looking up from the book, Bill said "Don't even think about it."

Sighing, she turned her interest to the group of strangers; the subject of dragons had turned up in their conversation and might indicate that they had something of interest to say.

"Well, that's not right at all," she grumbled, looking down at Bill and tapping a claw against the deck.

"Doesn't matter what he thinks," he said, showing an irritating lack of emotion as the man Baltar continued to broadcast his opinions on the Corps's latest acquisition.

"But he's talking a load of nonsense. You are talking a load of nonsense." Ignoring Bill's hand against her leg, it only took a stretch of her neck and she was able to interpose herself into the conversation. She looked down at the group, which had now fallen silent as her impressive shadow fell over them. Baltar was twitching as he stared up at her and had started stuttering, while the other two men were managing to put on a better front than him, but it was the Lady Laura whose reaction surprised her; the lady complexion may have gone slightly pale but she was able to calmly meet the dragon's gaze. So it seemed the woman knew something of dragons: Galactica was reminded of a few occasions where other dragon captains who had managed to marry well, whatever that meant, and their wives nervous familiarity with the dragons. She had noticed because those wives had been trying, at least.

Curious, but there were other matters that were more important to deal with first. "A dragon has a perfectly fine judgement of character, whether that person is Corps or Navy," she said as her upper lip curled up in an approximation of a human smile, a trick she had learned under her second Captain that allowed her to show off her teeth while able to quite firmly deny that she was not snarling. "If a dragon chose a Naval officer as a captain that must have been the right man for the job."

Similar to others who had been on the receiving end of such an expression, Baltar did not attempt to call her out on her artifice.

Though it did put a damper on conversation, but as she had made her point quite clearly she did not much care when Baltar stammered his excuses and returned below decks, the Lady following not long after at the urging of her companions that she had dinner with the Captain of the ship to attend to that evening.

It was not until the lamps were beginning to be lit that Bill would speak to her again.


	5. Chapter 5

1805- Somewhere in the Atlantic.

Even if it did prove to be a fool's errand, Adama was glad to feel the familiar lurch of Galactica's wing beats and the wind against his face; the lights of the ship behind them growing smaller, until they were one small constellation amongst many, only marked out by their colour and fallen position.

It was a relief to be off the ship, and even as they were chasing down a foe he could feel the tension leave his body, as if he had left it all behind on the ship. Which meant that it would no doubt return when they would have to land, but for now he was determined to enjoy the respite. And it seemed that the crew was also, certainly their was a lightness in their chatter he had not heard for some weeks. This was in contrast with the dragon herself; with her neck stretched out he could feel her tension underfoot as she threw herself in pursuit of a prey that he had seen neither wing nor scale of, but she assured him that was there.

"I hear wing beats." Her sudden alertness had roused him from an uneasy sleep as he rested against her forelimb; getting to his feet he closed the book that had fallen on to his lap with the place long lost and placed it to the side. Her outline was stark against the rapidly failing light of twilight as she reared up, staring at the sky.

Mutters from the rigging could be heard once heads had been craned in a futile search, mutters which soon turned to open jeering as he called the order to get the harness ready and for full crew to ready to board.

"Nothing up there but fucking sky."

"We're too far out for anything bigger than a courier, unless Frog dragons can turn invisible now."

"But what about those ships that went missing?"

"Weren't no dragons that caused that, that were ghost pirate ships, and no dragon could save us from such evil anyway."

"Mr Tigh!" Adama growled out, ignoring them. "Send word to Captain Nagala that we will going aloft." For even if his own senses were unable to observe any danger, he knew his dragon well enough to interpret the bristling of her spines and low growl barely audible as signs of a determined and focused anxiety, that would sooner or not burst into a frenzy of action. Far better to take a turn aloft than have her beat her wings against the masthead, and if the French were readying to attack, well then they would be ready to meet them.

"Yes sir! Boxey! Where in the hells are you, boy?"

As the lieutenant bawled at the youngest of the runners, Adama watched as his crew carried out their tasks with more enthusiasm than could be hoped for after such a long enforced recreation, even if Saul did have to bawl out Starbuck in the midst of the stream of orders. He ignored the observers who were keeping out of the way on the edge of the dragon deck; ever since that day Galactica had inserted herself into their conversation, rather than keep further away the Lady Laura and her attendants had taken to spending their time in the fresh air there rather than one of the many more suitable spots without risk of dragon interference. At least he had not had to put up with that fool Baltar's presence since then.

Galactica paid no heed to sailors or passengers, nor even her crew climbing over her to attach the harness. She continued to stare upwards, her head occasionally twisting this way and that as she tracked what only she could hear.

Rising on to her hind legs to shake and declare "All lies well," her desire to be aloft as soon as possible was obvious; before he knew it she had picked him up and placed him upon her back and people and ship and all were below and getting smaller with each wing beat.

"Contact sighted?"

He received a slew of negatives in response; even Dee, with her sharp eyes of Signal Ensign had not seen anything.

"I do hear wing beats!" Galactica's neck spikes bristled at the imagined doubt, and he quickly placed a soothing hand on the expanse of scales in front of him.

"I know."

"They are sneaking, not daring to show themselves and fight fairly, but I can still hear them."

"Them?" Adama again looked to the sky, as if the knowledge of more than one would have made them easier to spot. "How many are there?"

"Perhaps a dozen. Hard to tell, they keep flitting about." The muscles of her neck suddenly tensed and he and the rest of the crew swiftly took a hold of their straps as she roared out into the emptiness. "Cowards! Show yourselves! If you want to fight, fight properly!"

"They won't respond to that if they are cowards," Tigh muttered wryly, and Adama shot him a look.

"Mr Tigh, I think it is dark enough for some flares to be able to do some good."

"Aye sir!" There was the sharp smell of powder as Gunner Costanza set the first up into the air; the light revealing the roof of cloud above their heads and very little else, but as the light died away there was a voice rang out from the starboard side that then cut off.

"I thought I saw something, sir, but it was impossibly quick," Dee admitted when pressed, the ensign normally so reliable that Adama was inclined to believe her.

"They are cowards."

"What size was it?" Adama asked, ignoring Galactica. "Can't even be a middle-weight to be so quick."

"No sir, I'd say courier."

"How could something courier sized get so far out without a boat?" Tigh said. "And if it's the Frogs, no doubt they are leading us right into the sights of their ship."

"It's not them," Galactica said. "It doesn't sound like them. And I told you, there are a dozen at least."

There was the slightest hesitation in her voice, and Adama seized upon it. "Even so, even a dozen courier sized beasts would be out matched by you," he said softly. "Not a fair fight."

"No-o." Her heedless speed slowed as her wing beats became ever so slightly hesitant. "But they are up to no good, I know it. And why don't they show themselves if they are not? No, no they must be chased off!"

"Worth a shot," Tigh said to him under his breath.

But at least with her headlong rush checked they could worry less about keeping their footing, and instead focus on the fleeting glimpses throughout the crew as periodically a flare was sent up; the descriptions so vague that, a flash of a talon, a shadowy flutter of a wing, Adama was willing to put them down to tricks of the light being embellished by each crewman in their telling, until he though he spotted something himself.

He shook his head; either it was something or the atmosphere was getting to him as well and that would not do him or his crew any good. "We need to entertain the idea that if we are indeed in pursuit of an earthly foe and not an illusion, that we are deliberately being led away."

Galactica heard that, he could tell by the pause to her down stroke, but before he could take the issue with her further there was a fluttering shadow beyond her head that was there and gone just as quickly; in response to this provocation her spines bristled and she let out a roar deafening even to those familiar to the angry sounds of dragon warfare. He expected her to begin her unchecked chase once again, but while she grumbled and beat the air with furious force she continued to keep at her level pace.

"Good girl. I know it's not easy-"

"No, it's not. They are deserving of a thorough beating, but I am not going to keep chasing them if that is what they want me to do. Cowardly little bats!"

"We should go back to the ship. Let them feel the pepper guns if they insist on following us back."

"I don't need pepper guns to take care of my battles!"

"Of course you don't."

"Would serve them right if they did get hit in the face with a pepper ball, maybe they'd learn to fight like decent dragons," she muttered under her breath, and so the whole crew could hear. "I don't know what their captains are thinking, letting them behave so."

As if sensing her flight had become more controlled, the stranger dragons became more bold, appearing out of the shadows for longer periods of time while still not engaging directly. They were of not breed Adama had ever seen; sleek and dark, perhaps black in the gloom, but smaller even than a Greyling, with gleaming talons and a look of pointed yet inhuman intelligence in their faces, but what was of most interest was the lack of a captain upon them. They did not appear to have even a scrap of harness between them.

"Ferals in the middle of the ocean? That's not right." Tigh gave voice to Adama's own thoughts. "Next thing you know, sea serpents will have grown wings."

"We should turn back," Adama said, unable to ignore the slow dread creeping upon him, and thankfully Galactica was now of a mind to pay him heed. Continuing to keep a close watch of the strange beasts, who in turn were continuing to allow themselves to be seen as they wheeled amongst one another out of reach her claws, she snorted at their antics as she began her own manoeuvres to turn around.

"Since they are not afraid to make themselves targets anymore, a round of riffle shot should see to them," Tigh said. Adama looked at him for a long moment, then gave a nod of his head.

The ferals moved together with all the grace of a flock of birds, watching as riffles were raised with open eyed curiosity and no evidence of understanding to such an extent Adama held off on giving the order to fire for a moment. The rumble of gunfire that then split the air was too distant and too deep to have been the result of one of them men getting ahead of themselves; looking down the line he saw the same expression of surprise on each face that was likely on his own. An expression quickly replaced with grim realisation.

"Back to the ship!" he roared.

It was then that the ferals attacked.


End file.
